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same thing again, smashing this time into the left back corner of Frank’s car, and Warrior barks even more. My brother’s Porsche goes into a three-hundred-sixty-degree rotation. Fortunately, no other vehicles are near him, or the spin would be disastrous.
    I can see Frank’s face through the windshield, fiercely concentrating as he swings around and fights yet again to regain control. I also glimpse a terrified Juliana frantically turning in every direction to see if someone is still coming at them. Deeply shocked by the entire incident, I watch Frank pull out of the spin and then drive on.
    This second smash can mean only one thing. Blue-van is crashing into my brother on purpose and not because the driver is drunk or high on drugs. His actions must be pure road rage. But I also wonder if this is the same van Laura thought was following her to my house the other day.
    I note that the Porsche’s rear is now scratched and dented and includes a broken left tail light. I call 911 and ask for help, trying to explain what’s happening and where we are.
    Why is the guy still on Frank’s tail? Why won’t he drive away from them? I watch the van pull up alongside the Porsche and quickly swerve to the right, this time crashing into the side of the car and producing a violent crunching sound. I scream into the phone as Frank’s car skids to the side, sliding over the shoulder of the highway and down an embankment where I lose sight of it. The van finally speeds off. Warrior barks loudly and nonstop.
    “They’ve crashed.” I pull over and yell to the 911 operator, “Come now!” I’m breathless. “Warrior, stay.” My barking dog obeys my command, even though he wants to go with me.
    Leaving the car engine running, the phone still connected, and a noisy Warrior strapped in, I jump out, slam the door closed, and spot the car upright fifteen feet down in a gully. Thank god, it doesn’t look as if it rolled, even though my brother’s beautiful black Porsche is now a mass of scrapes and dents. I then feel intense relief as Frank unfolds his long-limbed frame from the driver’s side and steps out of the car.
    I scramble down the incline into the large ditch and get to the vehicle just as Frank runs around the front of the car to help Juliana out. They’re both shaky and grasp each other in a desperate embrace.
    “Frank, Juliana, are you OK? Any injuries?” I ask, my voice trembling. “I called 911, and the police should be here any second.” They say nothing, and Frank squeezes Juliana’s shoulders. She looks rigid, tense, her jaw clenched.
    I walk away to give them some privacy. I wonder how far the van has gotten. He might not be going very fast right now. I look up at my dog, who watches my every move and begins to settle down. “I could maybe try to catch up with him, get a license, phone it in,” I shout to Frank.
    “Are you nuts? He’s dangerous,” my brother calls out to me. “Let the police handle it. Ronnie, stay with us. You’re a witness, and the officer will want to talk to you.”
    I come back to where the two of them are standing. “I couldn’t see the driver when he passed me, before he slammed into you. I do know he had dark hair.” My voice cracks. “Oh my god, I’ve never actually witnessed road rage.” Juliana’s eyes flick toward me for a brief moment and then away, but I don’t miss her total fear.
    Frank looks up at the embankment. “It’s a miracle, Jules, that the Porsche didn’t flip, considering the angle of our slide.” He still has his arm protectively around Juliana, and she shudders and stares directly at the ground. He glances at me. “Ronnie, it’s an even bigger miracle that Jules and I walked away with no injuries.”
    “Did either of you get a look at the driver?” I ask. “Did you recognize who he might—”
    “Frank, Ronnie, please excuse me,” Juliana interrupts. She turns to my brother. “You’re right. We’re so lucky, my dear…” She kisses him